


Beautiful, Dangerous Things

by NotSafeForWork



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:35:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSafeForWork/pseuds/NotSafeForWork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was/is my first ever DA fill on the DA kinkmeme.</p><p>AU where Zevran decides to stick around in Kirkwall after he meets Hawke & Co. Mostly because that broody elf is just so sexy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am just finishing up the ending for this and am I little stuck-so I was hoping moving it over to AO3 would help inspire me.

It could only be supposed that after defeating the blight and helping to kill an Archdemon, regular life would seem a little…boring. Even if your regular life included slowly dismantling your former guild one bloody Crow at a time.

After Zevran had bid the Warden Commander goodbye he had left to return to Antiva, deciding that he would rather face the Crows head on than keep running. He figured that if he killed enough of them, and cut deals with the rest, eventually the seeming cost of going up against him would be too high except for the most foolhardy. Since having a couple of your compatriots after your blood was par for the course amongst the assassins he felt that soon enough he would be able to return to his former life.

However, as he was cutting a swath through the guild, he was already feeling some dissatisfaction with his choice. The entire time he was in Ferelden he had missed his homeland, and he had been delighted to return at first, but soon he noticed he was feeling restless.

Certainly the kill-or-be-killed challenge wasn’t exactly boring, but he couldn’t help feeling his life was lacking something. So when his latest confrontation led him through the Free Marches and he had begun hearing stories about the Champion of Kirkwall he had listened with a steadily growing interest.

Dragons, abominations, a duel to save the city from a powerful Arishok; it all had a ring of familiarity that called to him. The Champion even had a rag-tag group of odd companions, and when Zevran heard that he was accompanied by a “tattooed warrior elf” he had to laugh out loud. Perhaps soon tattooed elves would become standard sidekicks in heroic tales. After all, this Champion had not one, but two, although the second one was a witch and not a warrior. That made Zevran laugh as well, because of course there had to be a witch.

So he listened and he laughed as he found himself growing closer to Kirkwall. In the privacy of his own thoughts he had to admit to a feeling of wistfulness when he remembered being a part of a group who all watched one another backs, even if they didn’t necessarily all like one another. And in an even more private corner of his mind, he had to admit that he rather liked being a hero. Not that he felt any shame at being an assassin. He was what he was, and he had always faced the truth of his career directly.

What he did miss though, was the challenge that solving everyone’s random problems offered. That, and the sense of purpose that came from having an affect on the larger goings on in the world. After all, he had helped save the world, which on the whole rather outweighed helping some Antivan politician gain control of the olive trade through a series of well-planned murders.

When he eventually found himself in a cave on the side of Sundermount, face to face with the Champion and some of his companions, he again had to chuckle at the vagaries of fate. The Champion already had some idea that Nuncio wasn’t all that he seemed, and it wasn’t too difficult to persuade him to switch sides and confront Nuncio. This was good, because Zevran found himself quite distracted by the opportunity to check out this Garrett Hawke and some of his companions.

Seeing his Isabela there was a little bit of a surprise, although not too much of one. What was a surprise was the proprietary air she had towards Hawke, although she seemed unconscious of it. The little Dalish with the lovely vallaslin must be the witch he had heard of; she looked exactly as he had pictured her.

The one who most captured his interest however, was the silent, white-haired elf who stood just to Hawke’s right and slightly behind. Hawke had introduced him as Fenris, and he had given the Antivan a brusque nod. He was wearing unique spiky armor and had numerous white tattoos covering his chin, neck, and arms, and probably more that he couldn’t see. He was also carrying a two-handed sword that was almost as long as he was tall and probably weighed as much as Zevran did. Although he gave an appearance of lean strength, he did not seem bulky enough to be able to wield a sword that big. He was also jaw droppingly gorgeous. To say that Zevran was _intrigued_ was putting it mildly.

So it was with a definite sense of excitement that he headed to meet them at Nuncio’s camp. He couldn’t resist making a bit of a showy entrance, and once the fight broke out he headed straight for Nuncio and took him down quickly, and with as much flair as he could muster. Again, it was a good thing that he did, because a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye captured his attention.

To his amazement he saw Fenris, who was now _glowing blue_ run past and leap high into the air and come down while sweeping his blade downward, cleaving his enemy in two. Luckily Zevran had long since mastered the art of fighting while a part of his attention was elsewhere because he could not stop his gaze from straying to the other elf.

Finally the battle had gotten to the point where their side had already won and there were just a few stragglers to be taken care of. Since they were nearer to Hawke and Fenris he allowed himself to just watch. He saw the glowing elf swing his giant sword with enough force to cut through two men as they faced him, while roaring a battle cry that actually gave Zevran shivers. Good shivers. He had always said he fancied things that were beautiful and dangerous and exciting, and certainly Fenris was the embodiment of all those things.

Afterward, while Hawke was looting all of the corpses (and if that didn’t bring back memories nothing would) he ventured over to Isabela and gave her a charming smile.

“So it looks like you are quite attached to your dear Champion, yes?”

Isabela shrugged and said with an answering smile, “Well, not _attached_ of course, but look at that man! He is a beast, in bed and out!”

“Well, I confess it is your flashy elf-friend over there that has drawn my eye,” he said with a nod towards Fenris.

Isabela laughed and gave him a commiserating look. “Good luck with that. I have tried many times to get him in bed, but he’s…difficult.”

“Oh, how so?”

Before Isabela could answer he heard the elf in question say to Hawke, “If you are done collecting junk, we should move on.” The deep, rich voice seemed to travel straight down his spine to his cock, and something must have shown on his face... _he was slipping, what had happened to his training?_ because she leaned in to whisper, “That voice, I know!”

She turned and walked toward Hawke, saying, “I do so need a drink. I agree with Fenris, lets head back to the city.”

Without any conscious thought he joined them as they gathered together to walk back. They accepted his presence without any comment, and he fell into step at the rear of the group with the Dalish mage, Merrill, chattering away at him. He listened happily with a thrum of anticipation running through his veins. Life felt interesting again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran joins the crew for a drink at the Hanged Man

When they arrived back at the gates to the city he went up to Hawke to offer his services, and he didn't even make it sound salacious as he normally did. Well, not _as_ salacious. He had noticed that Hawke seemed a little concerned about his intentions towards Isabela, since they hadn’t made a secret of how they knew each other. While they were talking he allowed a distracted look to come onto his face as his gaze kept wandering over to Fenris. Hawke was a perceptive man, and by the end of their conversation the little smirk on his face let him know he had made his point.

The evening at the Hanged Man was enlightening. As they found a table he made sure to sit next to Fenris, although he managed to make it appear that it was just by chance that he had to squeeze in next to the taller elf. Shortly afterward they were joined by a dwarf named Varric who had a roguish air, a charming, expansive way of speaking, an array of gold jewelry, and an impressive swath of chest hair in place of a beard. Zevran liked him immediately.

The house ale was not much better than the swill Oghren used to drink but it served its purpose and once a game of Wicked Grace broke out everyone seemed much looser and relaxed. The little Dalish mage was sitting across the table from him, and he could see that she was feeling the effects after one drink because she stopped in the middle of the rambling story she was telling Varric, and turned to him with a quizzical look.

"So, are you really an assassin? I don't think I've ever met an actual assassin before. Or maybe I have but I didn't know it. Do you normally tell people that you're an assassin? That seems like it would make it harder. I'd think it would be more like, hello I'm a messenger, oh surprise I'm an assassin! Of course, since I've never met one I wouldn't really know. So how did you decide to become one?"

Zevran took a moment to digest the flow of questions and then chose to address the last one first.

"Well, it wasn't really much of a decision, since I was sold to the Crows when I was seven. I had been raised in a whore house until then, so my choices were going to be rather...limited no matter what."

As he spoke he could feel Fenris stiffen a little beside him, and he did not need to turn his head to know that those lovely green eyes had focused sharply upon him. He didn't have long to wonder why, however, since his response set Merrill off again.

"Oh, then you and Fenris have a lot in common. He was a slave too. But not an assassin though. At least I don't think so. He was a slave in Tevinter so he belonged to a Magister who gave him his markings, isn't that right, Fenris?"

He felt the white haired elf sigh before he rumbled out a low, curt "Yes."

Zevran took the opportunity to turn and address him directly for the first time.

"So I gather you must have escaped. How did you end up here in lovely Kirkwall, if you don't mind my asking?"

Fenris eyed him appraisingly before finally choosing to answer.

"I did not end up here until three years after my escape. The markings in my skin are made from lyrium, so my master kept sending bounty hunters after me in order to recapture me or bring back my skin. It wasn't until after I met Hawke that I felt able to face Danarius himself."

"Danarius being your former master? Were you able to defeat him?"

"Unfortunately he had already fled his mansion by the time we got there. I have been living there ever since in the hopes that he would attempt to come back and claim it."

Zevran saw a few rolling eyes around the table at that remark, and he wondered what the story was there. He had a feeling he wouldn't find out tonight, as Fenris seemed to have decided he had said enough for one night and had returned to contemplating the cards in his hand. Not one to give up too easily, Zevran leaned closer to the other elf and spoke in a soft voice.

“It would appear that we have much in common, both of us willing to risk our lives in order to gain our freedom.”

That earned him another quick, green glance.

“So it would seem.”

Again, he leaned infinitesimally closer and allowed just the _tiniest_ hint of lechery to color his voice.

“I would gladly watch your back if you would watch mine.”

At that Fenris turned to look at him directly, a hint of wariness and, perhaps, something interested in his eyes. Zevran kept his face innocent, and steadily held his gaze. After a moment Fenris turned back to his cards, and his reply rumbled so softly out of his throat Zevran almost didn’t hear it.

“I will consider it.”

Already he could tell that this was progress. Zevran made a sour face as he sipped from his mug and nodded towards the glass of wine the taller elf held.

"I see I should have followed your example. This swill is almost as bad as they stuff they serve in Orzammar, and that is extraordinarily bad."

He didn't get a reply this time, but he was satisfied with the small half-smile that appeared at the corner of that luscious mouth before Merrill began peppering him with questions about Orzammar. For the rest of the evening he spoke and laughed with the group, and he noticed every time Fenris snuck a glance at him when he thought he wasn’t looking. Coming to Kirkwall was obviously the right decision; he hadn’t felt this good in months.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran meets Aveline, and decides he's ok with being a dirty old man.

Zevran had settled into his room at the Hanged Man like a it was a second skin. Like a seedy, itchy second skin that required treatment from that distracted, feathery healer that sometimes accompanied Hawke. It was rather delightful.

The first thing he set out to do was befriend Varric. The dwarven merchant liked to talk as much as Zevran did, and he was an excellent story teller. The assassin appreciated that as he was a good listener as well; especially when there was so much information to be gleaned from the stories. He also knew without being told that the dwarf was someone with connections, and such a thing was valuable to a man of his particular talents who was looking to freelance.

Indeed, by the end of his third day he was lounging in Varric’s suite, about halfway through _Hard in Hightown_ and quite enjoying it, when the dwarf mentioned “knowing someone who knew someone” who needed a certain kind of favor.

So it was that within a week one of Kirkwall’s more annoying nobility had met with an unfortunate accident, which gave Zevran some coin for his purse and a chance to keep his head in the game. He was pleased that his skills were still sharp, and the “accident” didn’t earn him so much as a second glance from the red-haired Guard Captain.

When he was first introduced to Aveline she had heaved a put-upon sigh and given Hawke the look he imagined mothers gave their children after they had brought home one too many stray animals. She had taken his measure in an instant and delivered her verdict to him in a firm tone.

“You will behave yourself in my city.”

With his most charming smile on his face he had barely opened his mouth to speak before she cut him off,

“The Kirkwall Guards do NOT take bribes.”

Zevran affected a wounded expression and spread his hands in an innocent gesture.

“I would never suggest such a thing to a woman of your obvious integrity, and beauty.”

As Aveline glared at him he could see the muscle twitching in her jaw. For some reason he was suddenly reminded of a certain stone golem, although that was nonsensical since Shale had no muscles to twitch. Perhaps it was because both of them seemed to share a desire to squish his pretty head? Whatever the reason, he had vowed to be as subtle as possible in his work in the city.

~~~

Subtlety was also serving him well in the pursuit of a certain lyrium-enhanced elf. He had accompanied Hawke and his companions on several forays to the wounded cost to track down a troublesome band of raiders. The treks to and from the city gave him the opportunity to get Fenris to open up to him a little. He had found that, while Fenris did not like to be asked a lot of questions, if Zevran spoke about his own past that seemed to prompt the Tevinter to offer comparisons to his own experiences.

He soon learned that Fenris had served as a bodyguard whose main purpose was to impress, intimidate, and sometimes kill, other Magisters. The ex-slave explained that Danarius and his apprentice Hadriana liked to activate his markings with their magic, causing him a great deal of agony. That was when Zevran discovered Fenris had an aversion to being touched, since he associated all touch with pain. He listened with understanding, but _never_ pity, and he swore to himself then that he would wash away all the other elf’s memories of pain in a river of pleasure.

It was also during these discussions that he learned that Fenris had no memory of his past before receiving the markings. That horrified Zevran more than anything else. Pain was the price you paid to become stronger. The Crows had taught him that, and whatever he had lost learning it, at least he had come out strong enough to survive. But to lose who you were, to have no experiences to draw upon to help you endure? That seemed profane.

It also explained a lot to him about Fenris prickly attitude. He had served Danarius for about ten years and then another seven had passed since his escape, which meant in terms of life experiences he was only about seventeen years old. Surly attitude, combined with a certainty that no one had ever suffered as much as he had? That seemed like a teenager to Zevran.

That thought process left him feeling a little odd, because that made him the perverted old man seducing the virginal youth. That wasn’t exactly the scenario he had pictured when he had first laid eyes on the warrior elf with the giant sword. He had to admit that it did have a certain appeal though. When he let his mind drift to thoughts of tracing those markings with his tongue and being the first to hear that marvelous voice moaning in pleasure it had a _definite_ appeal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one takes Zevran's advice, but he's a BAMF anyway.

_Be careful what you wish for_ was certainly not just an idle saying. He had wished for life to be more exciting again, and life had served him up another dose of High Dragon.  At least his experience meant he had some good advice to offer the others, since his most _excellent_ advice of "This is not the best idea, perhaps we should consider not doing this?" was ignored.  
   
So it was that he had found himself in the charmingly named Bone Pit fighting yet another oversized dragon with Hawke, Isabela, Fenris, Anders the feathery healer, and Sebastian, the preachy archer. He had suggested finding some cover and letting the archer and the mage do damage from a distance, and they had actually gone along with that plan for all of ten minutes. But apparently warriors who had giant blades to swing around couldn't resist actually swinging them when such a large target presented itself, because as soon as the dragon landed on the valley floor both Hawke and Fenris charged straight towards it. He and Isabela followed about a heartbeat later, while the other two hung back and kept firing off arrows and spells.  
   
Most of the fight went by in a haze of blood and fire. Whenever the dragon was in reach he could see Hawke and Fenris trying to hack away at its legs, neck and underbelly.  Their two-handed swords looked like dinner knives next to the giant beast. His and Isabela's lighter blades just seemed ridiculously puny, barely long enough to puncture the first layer of skin.  At first they concentrated on keeping back the waves of smaller drakes and dragonlings so that the warriors could concentrate on the bigger one, but when the High Dragon kept flying out of reach to regroup they realized that the fight was dragging on too long.  
   
Zevran vividly remembered Riordan's sword cutting through the wing of the Archdemon, and although he didn't want to come to the same end as the Grey Warden, he couldn't think of better way to cripple it. He ducked behind some rocks to avoid the blast of flame from above and he stayed there as the dragon began to circle again. As chance would have it the brute chose a spot to land that was not too far from his location in the rocks, backed up against an outcropping. As Fenris, Hawke and Isabela charged at it head-on he quickly scrambled higher up the cliff until he reached a spot that jutted out near the dragon.  
   
As he looked at the giant creature below him he had a brief moment to reconsider his sudden urge to be a hero. Then Zevran tightened his grip on his swords, and took a running leap that _barely_ landed him on the dragon's back. He felt the beast gather itself underneath him, preparing to leap back into the air, so he dove towards the outstretched wing on the right, digging both blades into the soft membrane. As the wing flapped downward he flipped his body around and allowed gravity to pull him down off the end of the wing, while slicing through the flesh as he slid. Just as the dragon leapt upward he jerked his blades out and fell towards the ground, trying to tuck his body into a roll to minimize the damage.  
   
An attempt that was unsuccessful, as he landed feet first and he felt the shock of impact travel up from his ankle through his leg. He crumpled to the ground and tried to suck in a deep breath and master the pain, as he dimly registered that the dragon, having been unable to get into the sky, had landed again just a short distance away. The horse-sized head snaked around towards him, jaws opening as it prepared to bite. Since Zevran wasn't just going to lay still and become a dragon snack, he scrambled to one leg in an attempt to get out the way.   
   
As he stood he saw a familiar flash of blue rush past him and he almost forgot to move as he watched Fenris leap upward, his momentum enough to propel him to the top of the dragon's muzzle. As soon as his feet touched he leapt again and landed squarely between its eyes, using the impetus to drive his blade downward into its head. At the same time Hawke had come up beneath the beast's head to thrust his sword into its throat, just under its jaw.  
   
The huge dragon began thrashing around in its death throes, and as Zevran tried hopping awkwardly away so that he wouldn't get crushed, he felt the cool suffusion of healing magic rush through his body. It lessened the pain enough so that he could put his weight on his leg and limp out of the way. He barely made it two steps before he felt an arm wrap around his waist and his own arm was draped over a strong, spiky shoulder.  For a moment he waged a little war inside his head, his Crow training telling him to ignore the pain and not show weakness. However, his training had also taught him to _take advantage of every opportunity_ so after a brief hesitation he allowed himself to stumble a little and hang even heavier against the taller elf. He was rewarded with a tightening of the grip at his waist until Fenris was practically carrying him, and he could feel the words rumbling out of his chest as he spoke.

"Jumping onto a dragon's back is probably the most daring and reckless thing I have ever seen. What could have possessed you to do such a thing?"

"Ah, my dear friend, daring and recklessness is an inherent part of my charm."

When that remark earned him nothing but an arched eyebrow he smiled broadly.

"You disagree? How you wound me. Fine then, it is because I recalled that one of the Grey Wardens had crippled the Archdemon in just such a way."

His answer was a low _hmmm_ as they approached the spot where Anders was healing the burns Hawke had acquired.

After he had patched the fighter up, Anders examined Zevran briefly and sighed.

"I am completely drained now, but it looks like he can make it to a spot where we can camp. The one just down the slope by that stream?"

The last was directed at Hawke, who was now busy fussing over Isabela. He turned, looked over the rest of the group and gave the healer a brief nod.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zev and Fenris take a bath, Sebastian narrowly escapes death

The clouds had begun to gather as they approached their camp site, foretelling rain sometime during the night.  They hadn't brought much in the way of camping gear, Hawke being eternally optimistic whenever it came to the Bone Pit, so he, Fenris and Isabela set about gathering pieces of abandoned mining equipment to construct some makeshift shelters. Sebastian started building a fire pit between some large rocks, and Anders sat slumped nearby, obviously trying to recover from the drain on his magic. 

Zevran had yet to warm up to either of these two, despite their inherent prettiness. With Anders he could see glimpses of someone he would have found entertaining, and Isabela assured him that the mage used to be a lot more fun, but all he had noticed when they talked was that the healer could turn any subject into a diatribe about the plight of mages. Sebastian was even more irritating with his Maker-centric worldview and his obsession with sin. Zevran had always found religious fanatics to be both annoying and untrustworthy.

Left alone with the two of them as they started bickering at one another was, frustrating, to say the least.  In an attempt to block out their arguing, he imagined what it would be like to see the Circle mage Wynne go lecture-to-lecture against Anders. The thought was amusing. Even more amusing was the idea of Sebastian in a discussion with Oghren about...well, anything really. After allowing himself to imagine what Oghren would have to say about the Great White Armor of Chastity he was in a good enough mood to hobble his way over to the stream and find a bathing spot.

Luckily he didn’t have to go too far upstream before he found a deep enough spot for a good soaking. He had stripped off his leathers and laid them across a nearby log, and then leaned his swords up against them. Then he waded in, favoring his sore leg until he was deep enough to relax and float. Just before he dunked his head under he heard movement in the woods, and he started to glide back towards the shore when a deep voice spoke.

“Usually the point of leaving the wounded in camp is that they stay in camp to recover.”

Zevran smiled and stood up so that he was waist deep, making sure the water hit him _just so_ below his abs. Fenris was standing next to the log with his customary stoic expression on his face, but Zevran noticed his eyes flicker downward before he shifted a little awkwardly.

“It seems I felt more dirty than hurt, my smoky-voiced warrior. I could not stand the stench of sulpher and dragon’s blood for another moment.”

That brought the delightful little quirk of amusement to the Tevinter’s face. He lifted his hand and tossed a bundle of something to Zevran. The Antivan caught it easily, noticing that it was a clump of some sort of roots.

“I don’t know what they call it here, but in Tevinter we called it a soaproot. It grew as a weed in Danarius’ garden, and the slaves used to keep it when they weeded, since they weren’t allowed to use the master’s more expensive soap. Just rub it between your hands to get a lather.”

Zevran smile of genuine delight turned into something _wicked_ as he heard the last words. He just couldn’t help himself.

“Perhaps you should help me bathe. I’m not sure I can work up a lather all by myself.”

At that the other elf flushed a little and looked down while he mumbled.

“You’re as bad as Isabela.”

Since he hadn’t turned and ran back into the woods yet, Zevran took that as a good sign. He allowed his voice to drop into a purr as he moved forward so that the waterline dropped just a tiny bit lower.

“I don’t think Isabela is so bad. She is merely honest about what she wants, as am I. You are a beautiful man, whose company I very much enjoy. If you will trust me, I would like to show you that not all touch brings pain.”

Fenris blushed even darker, and looked down at his feet again before he brought his gaze up to meet Zevran’s. The timbre of his voice was even deeper when he replied, and at the sound of it Zevran was surprised his erection wasn’t causing actual waves to form in the water.

“You’re a very handsome man as well. Is there no one else who has your attention?”

He knew Fenris was asking because on some level he didn’t feel worthy of anyone’s affection, but ‘no one else’ was a concept Zevran could not even allow himself to consider right now. So he kept his voice light when he replied.

“At last you admit that I’m handsome! I had begun to think you were quite resistant to my charms. So, can I persuade you to get in the water? Look _cielito_ , why don’t we try this…I will start by washing those splatters of blood from your hair, and if you think you cannot continue, then we will not continue.”

As he was speaking Fenris had inched forward, seemingly without noticing, until his feet were just touching the water. Standing there in his fierce, spiky armor, his broadsword still strapped to his back, with a look on his face that was a perfect blend of lust and utter confusion, he was the most adorable thing Zevran had ever seen. He had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from actually snickering. At last he took pity on his lovely lyrium elf and turned around.

“See, I will keep my back turned as you undress and get into the water. This is a great sacrifice I am making for your comfort, for I would give much to see you standing there quite naked.”

He held his breath and waited, because if Fenris were going to flee it would happen right now. After an endless moment he heard the warrior unstrap his sword, followed by the sounds of his armor being discarded. He didn’t even turn around as he heard the other elf splash through the water until he sensed he was right beside him.

When at last he allowed himself to turn he deliberately looked Fenris in the face first. There was a defiant look in the fierce green eyes, as though he were daring Zevran to comment on his markings. So Zevran ran his gaze down over the lovely lines on his arms and chest as slowly as he wanted to touch them later, letting his admiration and desire show in his eyes.

He wet the roots and crushed them in his hand until they were covered with a woodsy smelling soap. The bundle of roots floated away as he indicated to the taller elf that he should wet his hair. With a last uncertain look Fenris knelt so that he was neck-deep in the water and tilted his head back until his snowy hair was submerged. When he leaned forward again Zevran began to gently work the soap into his hair, using his fingertips to separate the clumps where the blood had matted it together.

Throughout all this he could feel that Fenris’ entire body was tensed as though he were expecting a blow. Once Zevran had gotten the hair clean he began to soothingly massage the other’s scalp, starting at the base of his hairline and rubbing upward on either side of his head until his fingers met at the top. He kept repeating the process as he felt more than heard a low hum of pleasure rise out of the Tevinter’s throat, and he could feel some of the tension begin to leave the elf’s body. Fenris began to sag backwards slightly, leaning into his touch, and when he could no longer resist he bent down to place a soft kiss in the spot just behind that delicate ear. At that, the hum turned into an actual moan that went straight from his fingertips to his groin. He let his hands drift softly down Fenris’ neck and along his shoulders as he continued to plant kisses behind his ear, muttering soft endearments in Antivan between each kiss. By this point his lovely warrior was breathing in ragged pants, and Zevran was reaching out to turn him in his arms just as a deep brogue broke the spell.

“Fenris, Hawke said that…Oh Maker!”

Fenris had jumped away like a scalded cat as soon as the voice intruded, and now he stood waist deep in the water as he and Zevran both turned to face Sebastian. The archer looked mortified to have caught two naked elves bathing each other, although Zevran was quick to observe how his eyes took in Fenris’ bare chest before he turned his back to them.

“I..uh..sorry, Hawke had said, that is, he wanted your help rigging a roof for this shelter.”

Zevran sent a glare at the priest’s back, noting that as embarrassed as he seemed, he wasn’t bothering to _go away_ and give them any privacy. He probably thought he was saving Fenris’ virtue or some ridiculous notion. As for the warrior, he scrambled out and back into his armor after sending Zevran a quick, unreadable look. Then he gave Sebastian a curt nod and followed him back through the woods towards the camp.

With a pained sigh Zevran watched him go, thinking dark thoughts about the interfering priest and deciding that Oghren was too good a fate for him. At that moment he would have gladly handed him over to a broodmother.

~~~

By the time Zevran got back to the campsite the others had assembled some broken boards and bits of packing crate into a lean-to of sorts, since he had needed time to both clean himself and deal with his…frustration. Also, he had wanted to plan his next course of action, since he was certain Fenris’ embarrassment meant he had lost whatever ground he had gained. He thought if he started by apologizing for not waiting until they were somewhere more private, and then assuring his lovely warrior that he would never do anything to cause him discomfort…he sighed and thought again about just killing the priest and asking the Maker for forgiveness later.

He walked over to the campfire and sat down on one of the large rocks, stretching his sore leg out in front of him. Isabella looked up from where she was sitting and gave him an apologetic grimace, rolling her eyes towards Sebastian. The source of Zevran’s irritation was sitting on a log near their shelter, replacing his bow string, while Fenris and Hawke tried to put together some makeshift bedding. He had pulled out one of his blades and was inspecting it when Anders came over and offered to check his leg again.

“It’s a long walk back down the mountain tomorrow; if I heal you tonight then I can recover my mana again while I sleep.”

The Antivan nodded and tugged his boot off again. Anders knelt and ran his fingers around his ankle and calf, healing energy spreading up his leg as he did. The blonde man looked up at him with a smirk and a touch of genuine amusement in his voice.

“These boots smell awful. I think the stench is impeding the healing process.”

“Nonsense my feathery friend, they smell like my homeland, so how could they be anything but helpful?”

Anders just shook his head in response. Over the top of the healer’s head he could see Fenris looking at them, but his face was in the shadow of the shelter so he couldn’t see his expression. When he saw that he had been caught watching, he turned his head and went back to what he was doing. Anders pronounced him fixed and rose to his feet, going to sit on the other side of the fire. Eventually Hawke and Sebastian joined them too, Hawke lifting Isabella up so that he could sit on her rock and then plopping her into his lap.

Dinner was pretty scanty, just some dried fruit and jerky they had brought along for the day. Zevran was trying to decide whether he was grateful for figs or if he hated them when a lanky form sat down beside him. Surprised he glanced up at the other elf to find himself the recipient of a gaze that was intense and almost predatory. He knew that look. He had _worn_ that look, on occasion.

Well. _So_

It seemed that he hadn’t lost any ground at all. Perhaps Fenris was just surprised at the interruption, or didn’t want to be caught _in flagrante_ by a priest, or maybe he just didn’t want anyone else to see him unclothed. Whatever the reason, he was apparently still interested. Zevran smiled to himself and decided Sebastian could live another day.

For the rest of the evening he sat with the warrior pressed tight against his side, shooting him heated looks from time to time. He was grateful that Fenris was taller than he was, because otherwise he would have been stabbed by the shoulder spikes. At least the warrior had removed those sharpened gauntlets, because at one point he reached up and lightly ran a finger along one of Zevran’s facial tattoos, speaking low enough that only the Antivan could hear.

“There have always been those who wished to touch my markings, and I have never understood that impulse until now.”

Between the touch and the pure sexiness of that voice the Antivan had to swallow to clear the sudden dryness of his mouth. He reminded himself that he was the experienced one here, so he smiled seductively and lowered his voice as well.

“You may have noticed that I have more all over as well. Perhaps at some point we can play a game of trace-the-tattoo, yes?”

His answer was a low hmm and a slight widening of pupils in those gorgeous green eyes. Straightening up, he became aware that they had the attention of all the rest of their companions; Sebastian looked disapproving, Anders looked disbelieving, and Hawke and Isabela both looked delighted and amazed. When Fenris noticed he raised one eyebrow and scowled at them, but he didn’t move even an inch away. They all quickly turned back to their own conversations, except Isabela, who shot Zevran a hopeful look and mouthed _can I watch?_. He gave her a little grin and rolled his eyes while he shook his head in a tiny “no”.

Just then the clouds finally broke open and it started to rain. It was a good thing that Zevran was no stranger to the art of delayed gratification, because he knew that while Fenris might not care if everyone saw them flirting, he wasn’t going to be doing anything more than that with all of them crammed in the shelter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris slips his leash

None of them slept all that well that night, between the leaks in the makeshift roof and the general discomfort of sleeping on dirt with no bedrolls or blankets. Zevran was always a light sleeper anyway, and from the uneven sound of his breathing he could tell that Fenris was also, at least he was last night.

So they were a quiet group as they made their way back to the city, leaving Zevran room to get lost in his thoughts. He knew he already spent an inordinate amount of time thinking of Fenris and comparing the differences and similarities between himself and the Tevinter, considering their backgrounds.

With his white-haired warrior still giving him the predator gaze, he recalled thinking before that while his upbringing with the Crows meant he had been strictly _trained_ , it always seemed more like Fenris had just been _leashed_. Varric had told him the story of how they first met the elf, and how Danarius had named him Fenris because it meant wolf. There was certainly something a little feral about him, and now Zevran was getting the definite feeling that his lovely warrior was about to slip his leash. The thought sent an anticipatory shiver down his spine.

When they got back to town in the late afternoon Anders left them at the gates to head to his Darktown clinic. Hawke and Isabella waved at the two elves and turned to go to Hightown. They paused for just a moment to see if Sebastian wanted to accompany them, while the priest in turn looked expectantly at Fenris. Zevran decided he was having no more of this interference and casually moved so that he was facing the Tevinter with his back to the others.

“I believe I have a bottle of very good wine in my room, and I think we have earned a drink, yes?”

He didn’t have to worry, because Fenris nodded an affirmative and turned towards the Hanged Man with barely a farewell glance at Hawke and company. Sebastian looked as if he were going to say something until Hawke grabbed his arm and turned him towards the stairs to Hightown, calling back over his shoulder,

“I think we need a day off tomorrow, so see you for Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man tomorrow night.”

The two elves walked together towards the pub, while Zevran spoke casually of the parts of Antiva city that Lowtown reminded him of. The flow of his conversation carried them through the streets, into the bar, and up the stairs into his room. The bottle of wine and a few mugs were sitting on the table in the corner, and he opened it and poured a mug for Fenris and then one for himself.

The white haired elf took a large swallow and then set the cup down, pacing away before stopping and looking back at the Antivan. Zevran stood beside the table with his own mug in his hand and looked at the other questioningly, waiting for him to speak. After a moment he did.

“Yesterday…” the warrior paused and cleared his throat, “I have thought of little else since you… offered to show me there was more to touch than pain. Do you…I want you to show me. Unless you wish me to go.”

Zevran chuckled low in his throat before he replied.

“ _Mi tesoro_ I just spent an entire night listening to you breathe in the dark while I was unable to touch you. I would be sorely disappointed if you didn’t…

Before he could even finish the sentence Fenris’ tattoos flared and he literally _pounced_ from across the room. It was only Zevran’s excellent reflexes that allowed him to set his cup down before he found himself crushed against the wall, his mouth captured in a clumsy, but so delicious, kiss.

One of his hands threaded up through the warriors soft, snowy hair while the other gently captured his jaw, tilting his head just so as his own lips moved expertly against that fierce mouth. His lovely warrior was willing to be taught, mimicking the pressure of his mouth and the movements of his tongue. Zevran tightened his grip on his hair and pressed himself closer, the annoyance of the breastplate an even trade off for the hardness he could feel in those tight leggings.

Both of them were growling into each other’s mouths, and Fenris ran his hand’s down the Antivan thighs and up under the leather skirt, growling even deeper when he felt bare skin instead of smallclothes. Zevran felt the scrape of the sharp metal tips as the warrior grabbed his taut ass and pulled him even harder against his groin, drawing a groan out of him.

At that, the assassin quickly began working his nimble fingers against the fasteners on the other’s armor. Luckily he had had spent quite a bit of time strategizing how exactly this armor should be removed, so it wasn’t long before his lovely warrior was standing naked, but still leaning into his kisses.

Using the wall for leverage, he pushed into the taller elf and began backing him towards the bed while divesting himself of his own armor. Fenris seemed to be completely lost, not resisting at all, letting his hands roam over the Antivan as more and more of his skin was exposed.

When they reached the bed Zevran pushed him down onto his back, crawling up over him to kiss his neck and jaw while rubbing his whole body against him, feeling their erections sliding together. He kissed his way up to those lovely ears, nipping softly and running his tongue along the edge up to the point. Fenris was moaning beneath him, tightening his arms around the blonde elf’s back and bucking his hips upward.

Zevran had meant for this first time to be gentle and slow, but he knew the two of them were already at a fever-pitch, so slow would have to wait until later. So he pushed his hands against Fenris’ chest to keep him against the mattress while he slid down his chest to his hips, letting his tongue lead the way. The lyrium markings were a beautiful ornamentation along his chest, abs, and hips, framing but not touching, a straight, thick cock.

Kneeling between his legs, Zevran took just a moment to teasingly run his hands up the inside of the warrior’s thighs, leaning over him to ghost his lips over the skin there, and moving up the side to his hips without ever touching that straining erection. That earned him a full body shiver, a flash of lyrium, and an actual whimper from his lovely wolf. His own cock was eager to just get on with it, so he finally had mercy on them both and grabbed the base of that lovely shaft with one firm hand, while flicking his tongue against the sensitive spot just beneath the tip.

Fenris had his head bent and was staring down at him, those gorgeous green eyes completely dilated, his mouth slightly open and panting. The Antivan held his gaze as he parted his lips and took him deep into his mouth, rubbing his tongue along the vein underneath as he moved his head down, and sucking until his cheeks were hollowed as he slid back up. The warrior let out a guttural cry and dropped his head back to the mattress, closing his eyes and fisting his hand into Zevran’s hair. At that, the blonde elf launched an assault to wring a series of marvelous noises from that velvet throat.

The assassin’s normal self control seemed to have abandoned him completely, because he was himself aching with need. He untangled the hand from his hair, gave that lovely cock a last firm squeeze and scrambled off the bed to grab a bottle of oil from his belongings. As he was doing so Fenris’ snapped his head up so that even his shoulders left the bed and snarled something that sounded absolutely _filthy_ at him in Tevene.

Zevran laughed as he was grabbing the little vial, holding it up so that the warrior could see what he was doing.

“Just a moment of patience, my lovely. I cannot wait any longer to feel you inside of me.”

He moved quickly back to the bed, straddling the Tevinter and pouring some of the oil into his hand. While Fenris watched avidly he reached behind himself and began stretching himself with one slick finger. When he saw the expression on the elf’s face he reached his free hand toward one of Fenris’ and tipped the vial so some oil ran over his fingers. Then he tossed the bottle and grabbed the other elf’s hand, pulling it around his backside.

“It would feel so much better if this were your delightful fingers…ahhh.”

He broke off as Fenris thrust two fingers inside of him, unable to stop his muscles from clenching at the burn that produced. The white haired elf froze at his cry and looked at him uncertainly. He breathed out slowly and deliberately relaxed, using his own hand to guide the warrior’s and saying softly,

“Like this _caro_ , yes, ah yes. Like that.”

Zevran reached back and wrapped his oiled hand around Fenris’ erection, and in response the Tevinter curled upward off the mattress, pulling himself upwards against his golden chest. He felt the warrior insert a third finger, more gently this time, and he bent his head back to allow Fenris to kiss and nip and his neck and jaw. Finally he couldn’t wait any longer so he pulled the other elf’s hand away, pushed him back down to the mattress, and put the tip of that lovely cock on the edge of his eager hole.

He rocked down and felt the head slip just inside him while the Tevinter shuddered and grabbed at his hips. He worked his way down slowly, more so he could watch his white-haired lover quiver with tension than because of any discomfort. Once he was fully seated he began to ride, slowly at first, then more quickly, then slowly again, changing the rhythm just enough to drive the other elf to the brink of madness.

As Fenris bucked and moaned beneath him the assassin reached down to stroke his own throbbing cock, knowing he was already close. While the warrior’s cries grew more frantic, he pumped his slick fingers on his shaft and arched his back to change the angle of his hips so that the Tevinter was hitting him right in that sweet spot. He felt the fingers digging into his hips grow even tighter, and then Fenris came with a roar and an almost blinding flash of blue light. That was enough to send Zevran over the edge and he let out his own moan of pleasure as he spurted all over the warrior’s chest and stomach.

Falling forward rather bonelessly, he allowed himself to slip off to the side so that he was laying on his stomach, mostly draped over the white-haired elf. He felt Fenris sort of nuzzle at the top of his head and tighten his arms around him, and Zevran chuckled into his neck.

“I suppose I should have warned you that this was inevitable from the day we met.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran is...not himself

It was just past midnight when he awoke to Fenris slipping noiselessly out of bed. He lay perfectly still as he listened to the other elf don his armor in the dark. Well. This was something he was familiar with, one lover leaving discreetly while the other slept. Later, perhaps, they would act like this had never happened, and maybe they would have each other again and maybe they wouldn’t. That was how it was supposed to be, when your lover was a colleague and not a mark. That was _smart_. You stayed still and let them leave.

So Zevran was as surprised as anyone to find himself sitting up in bed, movements deliberately noisy so that the Tevinter would know he was awake as well. In the dim light of the room he could see that Fenris had seated himself in one of the chairs by the unlit hearth, and he was staring into the empty fireplace as though gazing at the flames.

Again moving without really thinking about it, Zevran found himself standing behind the warrior’s chair, one hand trailing along the back of it as he walked around to face him in the gloom.

“I am wounded, my dear warrior. Not even a note left on my pillow? You were just going to slip out and leave me to wake by myself?”

At this point Zevran felt a little like he was having an out of body experience. He knew that the words were a bad idea even before he said them, but it was as if they were being pushed out of him from this odd tangle of feelings writhing around in his stomach. He sounded angry even to himself. Why would he be angry? Why would this be any different from waking up with any other lover? He took a deep breath and tried to master himself while the other man replied in a puzzled voice.

“What are you talking about?”

Again his voice betrayed him, bitter and sharp,

“I suppose I am just used to being the one who does the sneaking out.”

Now Fenris was reacting to the accusation and the angry tone, his own turning surly and defensive.

“There was no _sneaking._ I woke up because…well, it does not matter. But after I woke up I just needed…I just wanted to put my armor on. I wasn’t going to leave.”

That should have been the end of it. If he had been at all himself he would have smiled and apologized charmingly, and _asked his lover why he felt he suddenly needed to put his armor on._ but he wasn’t at all himself, apparently. He heard Fenris say he hadn’t intended to leave, but the relief he felt at that only added to his anxiety. All these strange, unwelcome feelings were throwing him off balance. He needed to bring this…whatever this was, back to familiar footing. He took a steadying breath and made himself speak in his normal, flirtatious tone.

“As the priestess so famously said to the handsome actor, what now?”

He could see the warrior fidget nervously in his chair, running his hands along the tops of his thighs. His voice when he finally answered was low and hesitant.

“I am not certain. I would ask the same thing of you.”

“Well, I will make this simple for you, then. What comes next is entirely up to you. I was raised to take my pleasures where they can be found, for they do not come very often. I will ask of nothing more of you than you are willing to give.”

In the darkness the orbs of Fenris eyes reflected light like twin moons. He felt their quizzical weight.

“Does..I can not tell what you mean by that. Do you wish me to leave, or to stay?”

Zevran reached out and stroked his fingers through the hair just under Fenris’ ear, gently tugging as he responded.

“I am telling you that I want you to do what you want to, my pet.”

At that he felt the other elf stiffen under his touch, and even in the dark he swore he could feel his face close up. He barely heard Fenris’ say under his breath,

“This is too much, I can’t do this.” Then louder, “I think I should go. For tonight.”

Zevran knew he had unintentionally crossed some line, although he wasn’t sure exactly what he had done. Other than being an ass from the moment he had awakened. But except that, something had just flipped Fenris from “I wasn’t leaving.” to “I should leave right now” and he wasn’t sure what it was.

Behaving like an impetuous ass had done him no good so far, so he swallowed the first three things he wanted to say, and clenched his fists to keep himself from grabbing the other man’s arms. Finally he got his voice under control enough to reply casually,

“Perhaps you should. I will see you tomorrow night for Wicked Grace.”


	8. Chapter 8

Kirkwall was city of rust, its streets adorned with iron spikes thrusting upward into salt laden air. It was entirely possible that all the rust in the air was damaging his brain. There had to be a reason he was acting against all his better instincts lately.

After Fenris had left last night Zevran had not been able to fall back asleep, preferring to dwell endlessly on everything he had said that he should _not_ have said. So he had made a lazy day of it the next day, lounging around until late afternoon, doing small chores, and then washing himself in his room’s hip bath before preparing for cards with Hawke and company.

He joined them all downstairs after the game was already underway, sitting next to Fenris again but not crowding against him. That night he made sure to be pleasant when spoken to, but he spent most of the evening obviously distracted and lost in his thoughts. Zevran had much to contemplate, given his own out of character behavior the night before. The past few months in Kirkwall had gone by quickly and despite the rising tensions in the city itself, he had been enjoying his life and his new companions. The main source of his enjoyment came from the simple fact that he was here of his own choosing.

Fenris had been another choice that he had been making. He hadn’t realized until just now how important that particular choice had become to him. He had been telling himself that it was just about the sex; just about the hunt and the conquest. Meanwhile he had found out more about Fenris’ history, his likes and his dislikes, than he knew about almost any other person. While discovering things about the Tevinter, he had unintentionally let more of his true self show to the other elf.

What was this? Was this weakness setting in, now that he was no longer surrounded by crows, sharpening himself on their ambition and inevitable treachery? In Ferelden, with Duran and his group, he had learned what it was like to have friends. What is was like to be able to relax that constant vigilance he had in place against everyone. He must have liked it; because he had returned from Antiva to this place of dubious rust-covered charms and _something_ besides the killing had persuaded him to stay.

So what was he to do about his lovely lyrium warrior? The thought had just formed in Zevran’s brain when he noticed he was the center of everyone else’s attention. He focused on what was happening at the table just in time to hear Fenris snap at Merrill,

“There are no puppy eyes.”

Merrill gave Fenris a big, innocent grin and then turned that grin towards Zevran, who blinked at her uncomprehendingly. Then he turned to look at Fenris, who was staring determinedly at the cards in his hand. Conversation picked back up around the table, but Zevran didn’t like feeling that something significant had happened right under his nose and he had missed it.

He didn’t like a lot of these feeling he was having lately. Just then, Zevran decided that whatever it was that was happening between him and the warrior, he was going to remember his training from here on out. Practical behavior, not emotional reactions. No worrying about tomorrow while you’re still trying to survive today.

~~~

Of course, the next day found him tracking down blood mages with Hawke & co, so a _tiny_ bit of worry would not have been misplaced. Since he had made a sort-of-a decision about Fenris yesterday he felt better, although since his decision was basically _continue what you are doing and pretend like you’re going to stay in control of yourself_ he preferred not to think about it too closely.

As the day wore on and they trudged back and forth across the whole stinking city, Zev began to wonder at what his white-haired warrior was thinking. He noticed that Fenris kept shooting him glances all day, watching his face whenever he thought he wasn’t being observed, staying near him during the fighting and making sure he was unhurt. However, every time he looked at him directly the Tevinter would flush and quickly bury his real expression under his stoic demeanor.

The Antivan had been his usual flirty self all day, determined to act as if nothing unusual had occurred the other night. He had hoped that Fenris would return to the aggressive, hot-eyed behavior he had shown in camp, but there was obviously something that was making him feel reserved.

At one point the assassin said something especially saucy about how he liked his men, with a look in Fenris’ direction that plainly said _I like my men like you_. At that, he saw something clearly hopeful pass through those jade eyes, before they fell shyly towards the ground.

Why on earth would his lovely be feeling shy? For the first time he stopped to consider everything that had happened since the other night from the Tevinter’s perspective. Fenris had had sex with a lover of his choosing for the first time; had woken up in the middle of the night and experienced some sort of personal crisis that had made him want to put his armor on; had then had his lover wake up angry and irrationally accuse him of leaving; had been told it was up to him if he wanted to stay, and then something had happened to make him feel like he should leave. Then after all that, the next evening his would-be lover had sat right next to him and ignored him, even while the entire rest of the table was talking about them. Finally, the following day after _that_ his would-be lover goes right back to acting as if nothing had ever happened. No wonder the poor boy was confused. Zevran felt like _such_ an ass.

 _Brasca_ he really was amazingly thoughtless. He had been so overwhelmed by his own ridiculous feelings he had not even thought to ask Fenris what troubled him so, that he needed to get dressed. He had also not thought to assure his kind-of-virgin-boy that he found him to be a beautiful, marvelous, and exciting lover and that he was thrilled and honored to be his first.

So now as they trekked back up the stairs from Lowtown once again, he walked next to the warrior so that he could lean in and say in a husky and seductive voice,

“That night…I can’t stop thinking about it.”

 _That_ got a reaction. Fenris snapped his gaze around to lock onto his, and there was barely a hesitation before he replied.

“”Well, then I’ll see you later.”

He smiled, he couldn’t help it. _That was direct_ he thought; his warrior did not hesitate or play coy. There was laughter in his voice when he spoke again.

“No dinner? Flowers? Gifts of lethal poison? You spoil me.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris knows how to leave on a high note.

_Later_ found him curled against his lovely warrior on his too-small bed, his blonde head resting on the lyrium etched chest. Fenris lay on his back with one arm curled up behind and cushioning his head, and the other folded over his stomach. Zevran could tell that he was either already asleep or near enough to it, his breathing deep and even and his muscles relaxed underneath him.

He allowed himself a moment of smugness, thinking of the rather acrobatic display that went on in here a short time ago; that was probably the reason for his lover’s inability to remain awake.

When Fenris had arrived, as promised, at his room earlier he had been growling and eager from the first moment, kissing him intensely as soon as he was halfway inside the room. The assassin had surprised himself once again by gently detaching himself and waving the warrior towards a seat. Sitting down next to him and leaning so that he was looking in the other man’s face he asked quietly,

“I have not asked you what I should have that night…what was it that bothered you so? That you needed to get dressed?”

The lust drained out of the Tevinter’s face, to be replaced by a much bleaker expression. He stood restlessly and walked over to the front of the fireplace. Mossy green shadows flickered in his eyes as he turned back to Zevran and spoke.

“That night…for a moment it was if all my memories had come back, places, names, faces of people I knew, and then it all just slipped away. When I woke up it left me feeling so…so much more than naked. And so I wanted to get dressed. It was so hard, having everything I’d lost within my grasp for just a moment, only to lose it again.”

The Antivan held his eyes with his own as he asked softly,

“And have you remembered anything since?”

“No. Nothing. Maybe that was a glimpse of something that will come back to me in time. Maybe I will never remember again. It made me angry, the other night. But I’ve thought about it since then, and although it feels like a cruel tease it isn’t really taking anything new away from me. I will either remember or I will not, there is nothing more to be done about it.”

As he talked he fisted his hands and then flung them out as though resigned. Zevran looked at his face in profile, and thought about how frustrated Fenris must have felt, to be so close to having his memories back and then to lose them again. However he had dealt with it, all by himself, and now he seemed like he didn’t wish to dwell on it.

“I was not myself the other night; I do not know how I could behave so poorly. I should have asked you right away what was wrong.”

“It does not matter. I needed the time to think about it anyway.”

“But still, I was inconsiderate and I did not act as a friend should.”

Fenris tilted his head as if considering; when he spoke again his voice sounded both curious and a bit guarded.

“Is that what we are then? Are we _friends_?

In response the Antivan stepped closer, holding that green gaze and pulling Fenris’ head down for a series of sweet kisses. His voice when he spoke again was hoarse and honest.

“Yes, we are friends. A friend is someone to trust; someone who asks what is wrong; the one you want at your side in a fight. I have not been able to call many people my friend, and mean it…but I think you are one, yes?

He saw a touch of humor and something warmer spark in those emerald depths.

“Slave do not have friends either, if they are wise, so I understand. And yes, I believe we are…friends.”

There was a pause, and then that little quirk touched the corners of Fenris’ mouth as he leaned forward conspiratorially.

“But also, I want to fuck you.”

That startled a laugh out of Zevran, which was good because dissolving into a puddle of goo at the words “I want to fuck you” being said in _that voice_ would probably not have been the appropriate response.

“You know, you really have excellent comic timing.”

He stepped closer to the warrior and again pulled his head down for a blistering kiss. The warrior’s enthusiastic response pushed them both towards the bed as Zevran whispered.

“I did not say we were ‘just’ friends.”

So it was that a few hours later found Zevran lying in bed, thinking about that little exchange and wondering what on earth he had been trying to say. He had only wanted to let Fenris know that if he needed someone to talk to, then he was here. That in itself was a strange thought, so he pushed it aside and let his thoughts wander to better, dirtier things so that he could finally drift down into sleep.

~~~

While Zevran would be the first to admit that life with the Crows certainly had its pleasures, he would also admit that the disciplines outweighed the pleasures. One of those disciplines required being able to waken at the slightest sound or movement, fully alert and reacting to your environment while appearing to lie passive and still. This definitely did not involve waking up in a languid haze; aware of nothing in your surroundings outside of the hot mouth that was tenderly suckling on your half-hard cock.

Even as his mind dimly registered that he should not have been able to be awakened in this way, his body had already fully surrendered. One of his arms was laying limp and stretched out on the bed above his head, the other floated down so that his fingers could lose themselves in the soft white hair currently buried between his legs. His spine arched gently upwards as he allowed the rest of his body to sink further into the mattress, melting in ecstasy. Half-hard was quickly becoming fully hard, the fingers on one of Fenris’ hands encircling the base while his clever mouth worked over the stiffening shaft.

The warrior was lying between Zevran’s legs, his own long legs dangling off the edge of the bed, propped up on the arm that was so diligently holding his cock. His free hand was stroking up the inside of the assassin’s thigh, then reaching underneath to gently cup his balls. Zevran automatically spread his legs a little wider, giving himself over completely.

He was rewarded by a deep hum that vibrated through that lyrium throat as Fenris sucked him hard, and then slid his mouth back up to the tip. With a last little suck at the end he popped his mouth free and then licked his tongue back down along the vein on the underside, to nuzzle at the sac at the base. The assassin groaned loudly as he felt first one, and then the other ball being sucked softly. Then that tongue followed the same path back up, and lips teasingly offered kisses to just his tip. He bucked his hips up at that, until Fenris opened his mouth and swallowed him back down, almost gagging himself but then recovering.

Zevran felt the hand stroking his balls let go for a moment and then Fenris slid it back underneath and he felt a wet finger part his ass cheeks and gently rub at the edge of his hole. He heard himself murmuring endearments and pleas in Antivan as Fenris kept tormenting him, running his fingertip just along the circle, never pressing too far inward. Utterly lost to the feeling, he reached both his hands above his head in an attempt to reach the headboard, to gain some leverage against those wonderful fingers.

It didn’t work but the warrior took pity on him anyway, sliding one and then a second finger inside him. Between the suction on his cock and those long, slender fingers crooking _just so_ Zevran felt all the sensation being pulled from the rest of his body to the base of his spine, like water into a gathering tidal wave. His pleas became more and more desperate, and then with a last shout he came, feeling Fenris’ mouth and throat working as he milked his cock.

Zevran lay in a kind of stupefied bliss for a moment, for once not certain what to say. As his lover crawled back up to sit beside him there was just enough light to see the slightly smug expression on his face. Which was, deserved, definitely. The warrior leaned down to kiss him on the mouth, and then he slung his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to stand. Fenris’ deep voice was touched with wry humor when he spoke.

“I am an early riser. I wanted to make certain you could not accuse me of sneaking out.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has to tromp through sewage, but at least he gets a massage.

Varric had said something about Kirkwall being a city in love with crisis and Zevran had to agree. Anitiva city may be a pit of vipers; but the turmoil caused by all the political machinations was a constant. In Kirkwall there was a definite feeling of building tension, moving towards some crisis point. If you were a careful observer you might notice that the source of this tension seemed to be located in the Gallows; more specifically in the person of Knight-Commander Meredith.

The city still hadn’t recovered from the Quanari uprising; the vacancy in the Viscount’s chair had thrown the noble houses into an uproar that was growing worse by the week. Each house was certain they had the best claim to the title, and the most ambitious of them were not above the kind of plotting and scheming that was as familiar to him as the smell of fish chowder. This meant that Varric was keeping him busy, which in turn meant that occasionally he was not able to accompany Hawke on his little outings.

As had happened today which is why, business concluded, he was drinking at the bar in the Hanged Man waiting for Fenris to return. As they often did lately, his thoughts drifted to thoughts of the white-haired elf.

The two elves had fallen into a, if not exactly “routine”, then at least a pattern in the past couple of weeks. If Hawke and company were gathering at the Hanged Man then the elves would end up upstairs in Zevran’s room. If not, then Zevran would make his way up to the manor in Hightown.

In public neither of the elvhen men were very demonstrative; the assassin expected it was for close to the same reasons. Both came from backgrounds where showing affection just gave those in power another way to control or hurt you. Within the crows it was frowned on as a weakness to have attachment to anything, and slaves were simply not allowed to have anything of their own, even feelings.

Public kisses or embraces aside, it was still obvious to anyone with eyes that they were together. When Zevran was with Hawke’s party he and Fenris were almost always at one another’s side, whether fighting or just walking. They were also not averse to shooting one another hot eyed looks throughout the day, and Zevran was especially prone to dragging his lovely into shadowed corners for a quick, teasing grope.

As Zevran had suspected he would, once Fenris had gotten over the hurdle of allowing someone to touch him, he had thrown himself fully into the act. When the warrior finally decided he was going to do something, he did it with determination and an intense, single minded focus and it was no different when they were in bed together. Or on the floor…or the table, the desk, the balcony railing…or even once, just two nights ago, up against the wall _outside_ of his room at the Hanged Man because they couldn’t make it any further than that. If Isabela had happened to be going back to her room right then she would have thought it was her name day.

Since Fenris had to be driven over the edge to lose control of his markings it had become a game between them, with Zevran trying to wring as many “blue flashes” out of the warrior as he could. That night in the hallway Fenris had blazed like a comet; the assassin was sure the bar downstairs was suddenly lit by the glow. Later that night he had also shouted out Zevran’s name, several times, which was new and _immensely_ gratifying. Not least of which because, unlike almost every person south of Antiva, he pronounced it correctly.

Another pleasant discovery was that Fenris was _very_ …oral. He loved kissing; would kiss Zevran until his lips were sore and bruised; he also loved licking, nibbling, biting and sucking...Zevran was certain that at this point, every part of his body had been touched by, or inside, that wondrous mouth. Of course, the assassin had no objections to that _at all_ , since he himself was very tactile. The directions his thoughts were taking made him suddenly quite impatient to see his lovely warrior.

The sight of a bedraggled Hawke, Isabela, and Varric walking in to the taproom brought him back to the present, noticing immediately that Fenris wasn’t with them. The assassin pushed away from the bar and walked over to them; but before he even had a chance to speak Hawke gave him an attempt at a smile. The burly fighter sounded exhausted when he spoke.

“Fenris just went straight back to the manor, he took the brunt of the damage today. Although he’s ok! I just think he needed to rest.”

As he was speaking Zevran had noticed that the entire group simply _reeked_. His brows drew together as an expression of distaste crossed his face.

“Wherever did you go today? The stench is unbelievable.”

Isabela shot a look at Hawke,

“I told you! You said it probably wasn’t that noticeable! I definitely need a bath.”

She left the table and headed up toward her room. Hawke smiled at her back as she went and then turned to Zevran.

“We started off fighting spiders in the Bone Pit so that Anders could gather some drakestone, then we ran into _two_ groups of Tal Vashoth on the way back to the city, and then somehow Anders convinced us to finish the day by wandering through the sewers.”

“Why the sewers?”

“Anders needed some Sela Petrae for a potion he is making.”

 _Sela Petrae and drakestone, interesting._ Zevran filed that thought away for contemplation later. He smiled his thanks to the Champion for the information and politely took his leave, heading out the front door of the tavern.

As he headed up the stairs toward Hightown, Zevran knew he should assume the warrior wanted to be left alone tonight and just wait until tomorrow to see him. But he couldn’t seem to do that. The nagging worry that his lovely was hurt wouldn’t let him, so he told himself he’d just get a look at how Fenris was doing and then go. Unless the Tevinter wanted him to stay, of course.

He crept around and let himself in through one of the windows on the side, like he always did. Upstairs there was firelight glowing through the open door of Fenris’ bedroom, and he heard the sounds of someone moving around. The assassin walked up the steps with a deliberate noise and found the white-haired elf in the bathing chamber.

Fenris looked as wrecked as the others had in the tavern, spattered with blood and who-knows-what-else and reeking of the sewers. He was pouring a steaming pot of hot water into the bathtub, and the assassin could see the weariness in his shoulders as he bent to his task. There was a dark scowl on his face and his eyes barely flicked toward the door when Zevran walked in. Not the warmest of welcomes.

Zevran, despite seeing that Fenris was unhurt, found that he was unable to turn and go now that he was actually here. The Tevinter’s weariness was evident in every line of his tired body, and the assassin found he couldn’t fight the urge to take care of him. With the warrior’s prickly mood he knew it wouldn’t be easy, be he wasn’t discouraged. Even the sharpness of Fenris’ voice when he finally spoke didn’t dissuade him.

“You should not have bothered. I am stinking and tired and sore, and it is all because I spent my day running errands for an insane _mage_. The abomination convinced Hawke we all needed to traipse down into the sewers so he could _collect urine._ ”

Hearing the venom in the last words, Zevran suddenly understood the true root of his irritation. Fenris could handle being tired and sore, but helping Anders when he didn’t really want to always brought up bad associations from his past. He imagined it was especially hard when it was something humiliating, like digging around in the sewers. Zevran knew he would have to tread carefully.

“It is good that Hawke has such a friend as you. He is one who is always taking care of everyone else, without a thought for himself. At least he has you, Isabella, and Varric to support him.”

Fenris finished dumping the last of the water in while he shot him an exasperated look that plainly said he knew what the Antivan was trying to do.

Zevran took a few steps closer but the warrior, with a burst of his own considerable speed, zipped around so that tub was between them and gritted out,

“I stink of piss. Of. Piss. I would rather you keep your distance right now.”

Ah. Zevran realized that there was just a tiny bit of wounded vanity here too. In contrast to the manor he lived in, Fenris was meticulous in looking after his personal hygiene. The idea of his lover seeing, and _smelling_ him like this must be poking holes in his pride. At the thought that Fenris just wanted to be at his best for _him_ he felt something warm uncurl in his chest.

 _“Mi tesoro,_ let us do this. You will undress and give me your armor, and I will clean it while you take your bath. Then afterward, I will relax you using massage techniques you can only learn in an Antivan whorehouse.”

The Tevinter had already begun to strip off his armor, and he raised one dark brow at the assassin,

“You _want_ to clean the piss smell from my armor?”

Zevran chuckled and shrugged his shoulders,

“No, but I _want_ to make you feel better. Having everything clean again will help, yes?”

Fenris sighed and held his gaze for a minute, and then nodded. He finished stripping and climbed into the bathtub while Zevran gathered his things.

The warrior’s mood did seem a little improved after he had a bath, and several glasses of wine. His exhaustion remained however, and when Zevran offered again to give him a massage he looked at the assassin hesitantly.

“I am too tired to do anything more than sleep, I fear you are going to be disappointed tonight.”

Ignoring another little rush of warmth at his words, the Antivan smiled at him and began digging around for some of the oil he had stashed here.

“Caro, I expect you to melt into a blissful slumber under my very talented fingers, so how will I be disappointed when that happens?”

He walked over to stand by the bed, patting it while he looked over at Fenris expectantly. The warrior was still had only a towel draped around his waist and he tossed it over the back of a chair as he lay down on his stomach on the bed. Zevran lit a couple of candles and put them on the bedside table and then took one of the pillows and placed it under the Tevinter’s ankles.

Standing at the side of the bed, Zevran bent and just lightly stroked his hands up and down Fenris’ back. For a few minutes that was all he did, and then he grabbed the oil and moved closer to the end of the bed and the warrior’s feet. Rubbing some oil between his hands to warm them, he began by picking up a foot and lightly rubbing it with oil before beginning to dig his thumbs into the bottom, gently at first and then with more pressure.

For someone who never wore shoes, Fenris had nicely shaped feet. Callused, of course, but still nicely shaped with neatly trimmed toenails. He could see the warrior twitch as he pressed on areas of the foot that he knew would set nerves tingling all over his body, and he began to speak in a soothing voice.

“One of the whores in the brothel where I grew up specialized in giving foot massages. She was so talented she could make a man come while never touching anything but their toes and the soles of their feet. She had a very…specific but dedicated clientele.”

He moved on to the other foot, and as he did so he began to hum softly trying to make the atmosphere in the room as relaxing as possible. He knew that the foot massage was actually a little stimulating, so he kept his attentions there brief. A little more oil was applied to his hands and then moving onto the bed he straddled the warrior’s backside. He began with big strokes, gliding up and down Fenris’ back, allowing himself to marvel a little at the powerful muscles under his fingers.

Powerful, but he could feel the knots of tension along the tops of the shoulders and underneath the shoulder blades. He began laboring at those knots, concentrating on each one until he could feel it begin to loosen and then moving on to the next. The warrior’s soft groans of pleasure morphed into a rumbling purr.

Once Zevran felt he had worked out the worst of the tightness in his back he slid a little further back and gently massaged the perfect backside under his hands. He reminded himself that he was behaving, since the purpose was to put his lovely to sleep, but he couldn’t resist planting a soft kiss on one cheek before he stood again.

Now he turned and began stroking the backs of the warrior’s legs, easing the tautness in the calves. Fenris carried so much tension there that he spasmed a little and cried out when Zevran first dug his fingers in, so the Antivan spent a long time gently working on them. Then he once again ran his hands up and down the entire length of Fenris’ body, feeling that most of the stress had gone out of his muscles.

His lovely warrior had grown quiet and placid, and he prodded him gently to roll onto his back. Once he did, Zevran to a moment to appreciate the sight of the fully naked man sprawled out on his back. Usually, when Fenris was fully nude in his presence there was a lot more motion involved, so he didn’t get to just admire the view.

And what a view it was. Fenris was beautiful; there was simply no better word for it. He was all graceful lines and lean muscles, the lyrium markings reinforcing the impression of elegance. He was almost asleep, and his relaxed face looked much more youthful than it normally did. As the assassin gazed at him he struggled again with that strange warmth spreading through his chest. He could no longer deny, to himself at least, that whatever he felt for the Tevinter was different from anything he had felt before. Even with Rinna.

Zevran shook himself from his musings and returned to his massage, rubbing the last of the tension out of Fenris’ arms. He wiped the oil off his hands with the towel draped over the chair, and thinking the warrior asleep he quietly prepared to leave. As he headed toward the door a sleepy voice rumbled out,

“Zevran”

And the assassin turned to see that although Fenris’ eyes were still closed he had flung one arm out in a beckoning gesture. Zevran stood still just long enough to think that he had normally not spent the night with lovers that he _had_ just had sex with, let alone one that was too tired for anything but sleep. Then he smiled ruefully to himself, quickly stripped off his clothes, and climbed in to snuggle under the arm of his lovely warrior.


	11. Chapter 11

In the months since he had first come to Kirkwall he had gone from doing the occasional job for a “friend-of-a-friend” of Varric’s to working directly with the dwarf, assisting him in the shadier aspects of his business ventures. He wasn’t averse to expanding his professional horizons and he had a knack for information gathering, as the dwarf liked to put it, since he was naturally curious and had the ability to get people to confide in him. That meant he had spent some time in the undercity, as Darktown was a good place to gather certain kinds of information.

Varric wasn’t the reason he had come to the city’s underbelly today however. He had been meaning to pay a visit to Ander’s clinic for some time, and recently he had learned something he thought might actually send the healer over the edge where he had been teetering since Zevran met him.

Fenris knew they didn’t share the same opinions on the mages of their group, but it wasn’t really a point of contention between them. The white-haired elf would just say that he didn’t understand why Zev and Hawke were willing to trust “an abomination and a blood mage”. The assassin didn’t exactly “trust” them, but he didn’t mind associating with them and Fenris seemed to be resigned to that. That being said he was glad that the warrior had told him he had a few errands to run before going to the Hawke estate. That gave him some time to seek out Anders and have a little heart-to-heart.

He found the mage dealing with a single patient in his dingy clinic. He was resetting a broken arm bone on a hard-bitten older man who scowled and complained the entire time. Zev waited patiently and amused himself by poking around in the potion ingredients the healer kept on a shelf near the back of the room. Nothing unusual there.

Once Anders had ushered the man out the door he made his way back to where Zevran was waiting and sat down on a rickety chair with a sigh.

“So what brings you here Zev? You don’t look like you’re in need of healing.”

“You are one of those responsible for this mage underground, yes? You help them escape the circle and smuggle them out of the city, to Tevinter?”

Anders had grown tense as he was speaking and for a moment he looked as if he were grasping for the right thing to say. When he finally spoke there was combined resignation and anger in his voice.

“Andraste’s flaming ass, we’ve been so careful! You and that damn dwarf are two of a kind, noses in everybody’s business! I know you know things, but if you think I am going to confirm or give you any more information you can think again. Especially considering you are shagging that rabid mage hater!”

“Gently now my friend, I am only here to… give you some rather distressing news I am afraid.”

Anders narrowed his eyes at him and then sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Of course you are. Why would I ever get good news?”

“Recently, while taking care of some business of my own, I discovered that a certain Tevinter named Naevius has fallen on some hard times.”

At the name “Naevius” Anders stood abruptly and began pacing agitatedly while Zevran continued to speak.

“It seems that to compensate for his loss of fortune he has decided he would make more money by selling these “escaping” mages into slavery. Mages bring a nice price in Minrathous, especially the circle trained ones.”

At this, the healer’s face turned completely pale and he sagged back down into the seat, dropping his head in his hands down between his knees.

“You are…that is not possible! Naevius has been helping us for the past two years, why would he betray us? And in such a horrible way…slavery!”

Zevran walked over to stand in front of him and lay a comforting hand on the healer’s shoulder.

“Poverty often robs men of their principles along with everything else. Surely you must have learned that from living down here? From what I overheard it is only the last two that have been sold in this way.

Anders was gripping the sides of his head so tightly it appeared he might crush his own skull. The Antivan pulled his hand back as he noticed the healer’s skin seem to crack and a blue glow leak out, casting the dim room in a ghostly light. Anders stood again, without removing his hands from his head, and a voice much more resonant than Anders usual tone echoed through the room.

**“This is an outrage and it shall not stand. We will have justice from this traitor, and any who have helped him.”**

Zevran had seen Justice take over from Anders once or twice before so he wasn’t really surprised, but he was definitely leery. He stepped back to a respectful distance while the healer struggled to regain control. Once he did he let his hands fall to his sides and looked wearily at the assassin.

“This is...it is like there is nothing I can do right. Try to help people gain freedom and instead I am just moving them from one kind of slavery to another.”

“I have to ask, why would you not send them to the Mage’s collective in Ferelden? I remember Duran doing some favors for them; they seemed fairly well organized and interested in the same cause you are.”

“We did at first, and that worked well. But then the Templars here caught on to who our contact was and Meredith pressured Greagoir to move against them. So they cut off contact with us here. We thought Tevinter was perfect because of their attitude towards mages.”

Zevran nodded while thinking to himself that this was why the arguments between Anders and his lover were so exasperating. Neither of them ever listened to each other, so they never acknowledged the genuine points the other had to make. Such as the fact that slavery was big business in Tevinter and less powerful mages made good slaves for the powerful ones.

“Justice will not let me rest until we have vengeance on this traitor. Ever since Meredith locked the mages in their cells there has been no hope of getting any of them out, it has been at least a month since I have even contacted him. Do you know where he is now?”

“Yes, although from what I heard he is leaving to return to Minrathous soon. You will have to hurry. Will you be asking for Hawke’s assistance?”

“Yes, of course.”

Zevran leaned against the wall near where the healer was seated and lowered his voice.

“Since I am here, there is something that has been plaguing my curiosity. It seems to me that the main cause of the mage’s sorrows here in Kirkwall is the Knight-Commander. Removing her from the picture would ease of lot of the tensions, and not just for the mages. And of course you have an acquaintance, namely myself, who is used to dealing with such problems. It is possible she could have a little accident. Why have you not approached me about this?”

Anders was looking up at him as he spoke, and for a moment he saw clearly a look of desperate hope cross his face, only to fall away and be replaced by a look of resignation. The Antivan had to strain to catch his reply, as it was spoken so softly.

“If only it could be that simple. Removing the Knight-Commander would not solve the real problem, which is that the Chantry believes it has the right to treat mages in this way in the first place. A statement needs to be made, something that tells the world that we have the right to be free.”

His voice had become stronger on the last couple words and Zevran could feel him working up to one of his rants, so he thought it best to cut him off. He pushed away from the wall and began moving to the door.

“Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind, my feathery friend.”

Anders stood and followed him to the clinic door, reaching out to grab him by the elbow before he walked out. Zevran turned to look up at him with raised eyebrows as the healer said in a warm and sincere voice.

“I…really appreciate the offer, even if I can’t take you up on it. It is heartwarming to know that someone is concerned, and willing to take such a drastic action.”

The assassin smiled at him and nodded goodbye, not feeling it necessary to correct the mage that he hadn’t offered, he had simply questioned why Anders hadn’t asked for such a thing.

That confirmed much of what he had suspected ever since he had heard about the “potion” gathering trip the mage had talked Hawke and company into going on. He still remembered an incident from one of the more legendary Crows when he was just an up-and-coming. Sela Petrae and drakestone had taken out almost a whole noble house while they were watching a play one evening, along with the rest of the box seats along one side, all the unfortunates seated below them, and the entire orchestra. Anders didn’t want to just kill Meredith; he wanted to make an example of her. Zevran imagined that one of these days the templar’s offices in the Gallows were going to be lighting up the sky.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran is conflicted; Fenris asks a favor

After leaving the clinic Zevran decided to just head for Hawke’s and see what the Champion had to say about the situation with Naevius. The assassin had decided that, at least for now, he wasn’t going to say anything about what Anders was planning for Meredith, partly from professional courtesy and partly from morbid curiosity. He really did feel that Kirkwall would benefit from the Knight-Commander’s removal, although an explosion at the Gallows would probably bring more attention from the Divine than the city really needed. However, in his mind Anders had chosen Meredith as his mark, and an assassin did not interfere with another while a contract was underway. Unless they were paid to do so, of course.

He emerged from the undercity into one of Lowtown’s back alleys, filled with shadows barely broken by the late afternoon sunlight. As he made his way to the steps to Hightown the assassin moved like a shadow himself, one part of his mind always alert for an attack while out and about in this dangerous city. His hand reached down to rest on the hilt of one of his daggers, brushing against a small pouch on his belt and bringing the contents of the pouch to the forefront of his thoughts as he did so.

Zevran had come to Kirkwall with just a few things in his possession besides his weapons, armor and boots: a pair of embroidered Dalish gloves, a couple of carefully wrapped up gold and silver bars, a belt made from mementos of the marks he had taken out, and the earring that was currently resting inside the small leather pouch.

The earring was a keepsake from his very first job as an assassin. The Crows frowned on sentiment but it was common for them to carry tokens for luck, and that was how Zevran had always regarded this piece of jewelry. After the two elves had begun sleeping together the notion of giving it to Fenris had crept into his thoughts, setting off an internal war that he had been waging for the past two months.

Over and over again he had tried to tell himself that all the strange and alarming feelings that Fenris aroused in him were just a by-product of his circumstance. His contacts in Antiva had assured him that since reports of Nuncio’s death had reached the guild, no one else had moved to bid on his contract. If he returned to Antiva it might be different, but for now he was both too dangerous and too far away for any of the Crows to feel the risk was worth it.

That meant he was truly free, in a way he had never been. So he tried to tell himself that the exhilaration of his freedom, plus his admitted infatuation for his lovely warrior, were what was making him feel so strangely. It was all just something new, and he had been certain it would fade in time.

Instead, his _infatuation_ had only grown. He thought of the other elf constantly and not just lustfully, although Maker knows he spent plenty of time thinking of new ways to make his lovely warrior writhe and moan. But he also spent plenty of time just…thinking about him, and he took a great a deal of comfort from just being in the warrior’s presence whether they were having sex or not. The Antivan had never been one to think of the future but he knew that now, if he were to think of it, he would picture a future with Fenris at his side. And it terrified him.

So he went back and forth in his mind about giving the earring to the warrior. Fenris would want to know why, and what it meant and Zevran did not feel he would be able to tell him. He imagined handing it to the white-haired elf and laughing it off as nothing. Telling him that he could keep it or sell it, whatever he liked. However, he knew that was a lie, and the idea of giving it to his lovely only to have him get rid of it left a hollow feeling inside of him. In the most secret part of his mind he knew he wanted it to be a token of his affection, something to mark the warrior as his and bind them together. And that terrified him even more. So the earring stayed in his pouch, and the war went on in his head.

Pulled out of his musings by his arrival at Hawke’s door, he silently shook his head at himself and lifted his hand to knock. He needed to put these absurd romantic notions aside for later and concentrate on the business at hand.

~~~

 

A short while later Zevran was sitting in the study at Hawke’s estate, listening to Hawke and Isabela banter and swirling a glass of Antivan brandy in his hand. Such were the advantages of keeping company with the local nobility. He was sitting on a chair near the hearth while the pirate and the fighter were curled up together in a nearby overstuffed armchair. Isabela was currently waging a campaign to get Hawke to have sex on the statue of himself as Champion that was down by the docks.

“Oh come on Hawke, they _erected_ it in your honor. You could at least return the compliment.”

Zevran chuckled a little and Hawke groaned at the bad joke but Isabela just kept going.

“Besides, it will be symbolic or something! I could sit on the foot that’s on the Arishock’s head and you could…”

“Isabela!”

“Oh fine spoilsport. One of these days I _am_ going to talk you into something truly scandalous.”

The Champion put his hand over his eyes in exasperation, but Zevran had a feeling that if he wasn’t there Hawke would be exploring exactly what she thought “truly scandalous” consisted of. He was almost ready to offer to come back later when they heard Bodhan announcing that messere Anders had arrived. Obviously finding out about Naevius had shaken him and he had come straight to Hawke for help. He declined the offer of a drink and quickly caught the Champion up on what Zevran had told him.

The four of them soon began discussing the hows and whys of the Tevinter mage’s betrayal, and they were just getting around to making a plan when Fenris finally showed up, looking a little more disheveled than he normally did. The white-haired elf entered with a greeting for Hawke and the pirate and a grumbled “hrm” for the mage. After accepting a glass of brandy, he made his way over to where the assassin was seated and stood beside his chair, giving him the little half smile he was so fond of. Isabela stood to get herself another drink and then turned her attention to the warrior.

“You look a bit…sweaty. What have you been up to?”

Fenris took a sip from his glass, holding it in his mouth in appreciation before swallowing, Zevran was gratified to notice. He pulled another chair a little nearer to the fire and sat down as he answered.

“First I went to the keep to see Aveline. I have decided I would take her up on her offer to train her guards in Tevinter fighting techniques.”

That got everyone’s attention, Hawke and Isabela exchanging surprised looks before the Champion commented.

“Really? When she asked you before you refused pretty firmly, what made you change your mind?”

The white-haired elf fidgeted a little uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck. He shot a quick, somewhat bashful look at the Antivan before he answered.

“It has occurred to me that I may not be taking the right attitude about the skills that I learned as a slave. By limiting what I do with what I have learned…it is just another way of making myself less than what I am. Aveline was right when she said that something good should come of what I have been through.”

Zevran could not help but give the warrior a pleased smile at that, knowing that it was the many discussions they had on this subject that had brought him around to this viewpoint. Fenris was certainly stubborn, and he would often reject new ideas when first presented to him, but he was a contemplative soul. Given enough time to mull it over he could admit when he had been wrong. Except when it came to mages, of course.

Isabela laughed and plopped back down into the chair with Hawke.

“I bet the big girl was so excited to have a new way to batter her recruits. They’ve become quite the expert Mabari fighters; she said they needed a new challenge. Is that why you’re all rumpled looking?”

Fenris ran his hand over his hair self-consciously and frowned at her.

“No, I won’t begin training them until tomorrow. I had told Sebastian I would come and help him in the Chantry’s garden. The Grand Cleric had ordered some new statuary and she had asked him to see to its arrangement.”

The pirate snickered at that and shot Zevran a wicked look.

“Oh yes, I’m sure you’d be the first person the priest would call on to help maneuver his marble.”

Hawke groaned again and Fenris scowled at her while Zevran stamped down a bolt of irritation at hearing the priest’s name. Ever since catching them bathing, Sebastian had managed to work in “subtle” references to lifestyles the Maker considered sinful in almost every conversation. It was quite tiresome. Luckily the Tevinter seemed to agree, because he did not seek out the priest’s company any more, and only visited the Chantry when Sebastian asked him for help with something. To the assassin’s mind he needed help more often than any grown, capable man should. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew Fenris really did respect the man and for the vow of chastity…especially for the vow of chastity, the priest would have quietly disappeared _weeks_ ago.

The sound of a chair being pulled up interrupted his thoughts and he looked over to see the healer sit down. Anders looked at him with an eyebrow raised and a question in his voice.

“You’ve gotten quiet suddenly.”

Zevran gave him a distracted smile and drew the rest of the company’s attention back to the subject at hand. He liked the mage better than he used to, but they’d never exactly shared confidences and he wasn’t about to start now.

Anders wasn’t too keen on exposing his secrets to the ex-slave, but since he was no longer able to get mages out and his contact seemed to have gone to the dark side he really had nothing left to hide. Of course, once Fenris heard what had happened he looked across Zevran to where the healer was sitting, gave him a contemptuous look and shook his head. He couldn’t help berating him for being foolish enough to assume Tevinter was a safe haven, and for trusting a Tevinter mage in the first place.

“I have spoken countless times of the ambitions of mages in Tevinter, but you have never listened. I’m sure this mage would like to become a Magister, and in order to do so you need money, power and influence. The easiest way to get those things is on the backs of slaves. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a blood mage as well.”

Anders face was flushed with anger and he snapped back defensively at the white-haired elf.

“Of course you wouldn’t, you think all mages are bound to become blood mages. It is unconscionable that Naevius has betrayed his own kind and I feel horrible for what happened to our last two refugees, but there have been quite a few who have made a safe and happy life in Tevinter. I’ve gotten several grateful letters telling me how different it is to live in a place where magic is valued.”

Hawke threw a rueful glance at Zevran and then jumped in before the argument could get too heated.

“What really matters here is that we have yet another slaver operation working under our noses. Naevius must have had slaver contacts to help him transport and then sell these mages. They may have even been the ones to talk him into this in the first place. So we need a way to find out who they are so we can get rid of the whole lot of them. Fenris, I am sure you don’t have any objections to killing more Tevinter slavers?”

The warrior’s only reply was a dark look and a grumble. Fenris would never object to taking on slavers, but he was never happy about helping mages, especially Anders.

Hawke suggested contacting Naevius and telling him that, although the mages in the circle were locked down too tight to escape, they had an apostate hiding in the Alienage that they needed to get to Tevinter. Anders normally took the mages out through some tunnels that led out of the undercity to meet Naevius at a desolate spot on the wounded coast. They would then have to follow Naevius and the “mage” to wherever he met the slavers, and ambush them. Anders took to this idea right away, and added a suggestion of his own.

“That’s perfect! We could disguise Zevran as a mage, that way only you, Isabella and Fenris will have to worry about concealing yourselves until we spring the trap.”

The other four looked at him with varying expressions of bemusement at his eager tone, and finally Hawke replied.

“Yes, well, I’m not really worried about whether the assassin can conceal himself. And we already know an honest-to-goodness apostate mage who lives in the Alienage, and is in fact a bit of a bad ass herself.”

Both Fenris and Anders looked annoyed at this, because wanting nothing to do with Merrill was the only thing they agreed on. But the white-haired elf nodded in acceptance.

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense. It is better to bring that foolish blood mage along than to have Zevran go in unarmed except for a staff he can’t use.”

There was an undercurrent of concern in that deep voice and the Antivan felt himself torn between affection at the fact that his lovely worried for his safety, and annoyance at being spoken about as if he weren’t there.

“I could kill a man with a staff if I had to, and I could also easily conceal blades underneath my robes. However, the best disguise is the truth we say, so having an actual mage play the part might be best. If I were called upon to demonstrate my magic it would certainly give us away.”

Hawke and Fenris both nodded, while Anders looked a little disappointed. But he agreed when Isabela said she would talk to Merrill in the Alienage while he went to follow his normal process for contacting Naevius.

~~~

Zevran and Fenris left shortly afterward and headed back to the manor. As they made their way through the dark streets, the assassin got the distinct feeling that his lovely wanted to say something to him but didn’t know how to do it. Finally the warrior broke the stillness, his resonant voice sounding hesitant.

“There was another reason I went to speak to Aveline today. I…I have told you about Hadriana and how I killed her. What I didn’t tell you was that…before she died she told me I had a sister. Her name is Varania. At first I didn’t want to believe her, but I finally wrote to her and discovered it was true. She is not a slave; she is a tailor, living in Minrathous. She wrote back and said she would like to come and see me, so I sent the money for her to take a ship. I’ve asked Aveline if she could have her guards keep an eye on the docks and see if they spot her when she comes into port.”

As Zevran was listening he felt his jaw clenching involuntarily as he fought back an unexpected wave of hurt and anger.

“ _Demonios!_ Do you not trust me? Why would you not tell me of such a thing?”

Fenris stopped and turned towards him, his face barely visible in the darkness.

“Of course I trust you, it wasn’t that. I just…I didn’t want to get my hopes up. It was easier to pretend that I didn’t care what happened as long as no one knew but myself.”

Some of the hurt faded at that, but that didn’t stop him from feeling _pissed_. What was the warrior thinking not to involve him? Through his dealings both for and against the Crows he had contacts from here to Seheron. If Fenris had needed to find his sister he should have asked him, he was a _professional_. Did the Tevinter not think he was competent?

“You are not worried that this is a trap? You didn’t think I could help you?”

He could make out the shape of the warriors arms as he flung them upwards in his agitation.

“Of course I am worried that it’s a trap! The men I hired told me that she seems to be exactly what she claims to be, but the more it seems like Danarius knows nothing the more I am certain I am that he does.”

Fenris stepped closer and grabbed the assassin by the shoulders. He could feel the warrior’s breath as he lowered his voice and said in a soft, almost pleading tone.

“I need you to come with me when I meet her. It...it would mean a lot to me. It is all that I ask of you.”

His anger was no match for that earnest plea, and he felt it drain away, only to be replaced by something much warmer. The full impact of what Fenris was telling him finally sunk in. _He had a sister_. As far as they knew, that was the only family either of them had. He reached his hand up to cup the others cheek and without even thinking he replied.

“Of course I will be with you _caro_. I will always be there when you need me.”

He could feel the relief in every line of the Tevinter’s body as he pulled him in for a crushing kiss and he responded eagerly. The assassin had no idea how long they stood there making out in the middle of a Hightown street, but eventually he pulled his head back with a chuckle.

“We should continue on, unless you want me to have my wicked way with you right here in the street.”

There was a long pause, and Zevran began to think the warrior was seriously considering it before he finally _hmmd_ deep in his throat and turned to walk on, keeping one arm slung around the assassins shoulders. He could barely hear the warrior say under his breath,

“I suppose it would only give the damn dwarf more to write about.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zev gets hurt; Varric gets all the best lines.

Zevran swam up out of the Fade the way an assassin should, his senses awakening and alert before his eyes ever opened. The smell of mildew and healing potions and the sound of Anders voice informed him that he was in the clinic before the ache in his bones and the roiling in his stomach told him why.

Oh yes, that damned assassin…the _other_ assassin.

The plan to catch Naevius and the slavers had gone off without a hitch. In fact, the most difficult thing about the whole affair was dealing with a Merrill who was just really not equipped for subterfuge. Isabela had to coach her carefully about the things she could say and _not_ say, and that took the better part of an afternoon. However, although she liked to babble and was fairly naïve, she wasn’t _stupid_ , and once she and the pirate had practiced a few times she seemed to have a handle on how to act the part.

So from that point it had all gone well. Varric had been included in the scheme, so it was a group of rogues plus Fenris who followed Anders and Merrill at a discreet distance when they met with Naevius in a secluded spot on the Wounded Coast. From there, they continued to shadow the Tevinter mage and the “refugee” as they headed into one of the many caverns that dotted the coast. Merrill kept up a continuous conversation about magic, allowing them to follow the sound of her voice while staying safely out of sight.

At one point they heard her bluntly explain that she had to leave her clan because of blood magic. There was a pause in the conversation after that, during which Zevran imagined that her asking price had just increased in her escort’s mind. Then they heard Naevius laugh and reply,

“Blood magic, eh? Well, you’ll fit in in Tevinter better than I expected.”

At that, Fenris had shot Anders a very pointed look but the healer was determinedly not looking at him. Hawke gestured at the warrior to just keep moving already, and they made their way into the slaver’s hideout.

From there the battle had gone much as the dozens of other fights they had been in. With the exception of one tricky Tevinter bastard who had coated his blades in a poison that was obviously his own concoction, because Zevran’s normal resistance did him no good.

He and the slaver-assassin had danced around trading blows while the rest of the group took out the others. Fenris went right for the Tevinter mage, of course, while the rest of the fighters were mopped up by Hawke and the rest. Zevran had seen the tell-tale slick on the surface of the assassin’s blade, just before the man had attacked with a flurry of blows that showed he was almost as fast as the Antivan.

 _Almost_. Zevran finally caught him out when he made the fatal mistake of lunging forward with just a little too much force. Instead of blocking the blow, the blonde elf deftly moved aside and spun around to plant both his daggers in the other assassin’s back. He looked around to see that the fight was indeed over, and didn’t even notice the cut along his thigh until Fenris pointed it out. As soon as the warrior bent to look at it he could feel the burn of the poison going into his bloodstream. He picked up the assassin’s blade and sniffed, recognizing the smell of deathroot and his own blood, but there was another bittersweet smell that was unfamiliar.

Zevran _thought_ he turned to comment on it to the warrior, but instead he must have started falling, because he dimly remembered Fenris catching him while yelling out for the mage. He thought for a moment how strange it was that you could go from feeling fine to feeling like your veins were filled with lava so quickly, and then…nothing. Until waking up just now.

He could hear more than one person milling about in the room, and without opening his eyes he spoke in a voice that attempted to be humorous, but came out sounding raspy and dry.

“I hoped someone saved that blade, because I really _must_ know what was in that poison.”

Instantly he felt someone leaning over him, and a pair of hands rested lightly on either side of his shoulders. He blearily opened his eyes to meet the worried green gaze of his lovely, only inches from his face. Zevran gave him a small smile but before he could say anything else the healer’s voice cut in.

“You’re not doing him any favors by crowding him like that and I need to examine him.”

Fenris scowled at the mage but he did straighten and take a step back, while never taking his eyes off the Antivan. Zevran tried to push himself up on one elbow, but his stomach did an uncomfortable flip at that so he lay back down with a grunt. At that, Anders stepped quickly to his side and bent to look him in the face. The healer put his hand up and cast a small magelight, holding it close to Zevran’s eyes while he checked his pupils.

“Your pupils look normal, that’s a good sign.”

Then he put his ear close to the Antivan’s chest so that he could listen to his heartbeat and breathing. Once he was satisfied that all seemed normal he pulled the blanket off the assassin's legs and began examining the cut.

“It looks like it is healing fine, no strange colors or smells. I think you need a rest and some elfroot and you’ll be fine. Let’s just move you from the exam table to a cot and I’ll see if I even have any potions left.”

With the ease of long practice Anders slipped one arm under him to try and help him sit up, while pulling his arm around the healer’s shoulders. Fenris actually growled at that, and stepped forward but Hawke brought him up short.

“Fenris, you should be grateful Anders was there to heal your lover, and you might consider thanking him.”

Zevran tried to shoot his lovely a reassuring smile, but his treacherous stomach wouldn’t let him do anything but grimace as the healer got him to his wobbly feet. That was too much for the warrior, who was at his side in a moment, scooping him up into his arms with surprising gentleness. As he carried the assassin to one of the cots Varric couldn’t resist commenting,

“Aw, he really did sweep him off his feet. Since he’s the taller one that’s how I thought it would be, but it’s good to get the details right.”

Fenris straightened from the cot and shot the dwarf a look, but then he seemed to steel himself as he turned to the healer.

“I…thank you. I am grateful that you were there to save him.”

Everyone looked surprised at that, no one moreso than Anders. However, he couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone because he gave a bitter laugh.

“Oh, are you thanking me for using my _magic_ to heal him?

Zevran lifted his head from the pillow and spoke before the warrior could come up with an angry retort.

“ _I_ am thanking you for healing me with magic, and I will thank you again once I don’t feel like heaving all over your floor.”

The Antivan wasn’t exactly sure why Anders gave the warrior such a self-satisfied look at that, but he was too tired to work it out now. He let his head fall back down with a sigh, which brought both the healer and the white-haired elf to his side in an instant. Anders pulled a blanket up over him while glaring at the warrior, who glared right back. Before actual bloodshed could break out Hawke’s voice cut the tension.

“Fenris, come with me to see Lady Elegant. We should do Anders the favor of restocking his clinic, and Zev will be better with some elfroot for the nausea.”

Fenris kept right on glaring at Anders even as he replied.

“I am not leaving him alone with the abomination.”

Zevran thought Hawke sounded annoyed and, well, almost _amused_ as he shot right back.

“One, Anders is a _healer_. Two, Varric is here so even if Anders wasn’t a healer then he isn’t alone. And three, if you want Zev able to walk home and sleep in his own bed tonight I suggest you come get potions with me. Otherwise he’ll be sleeping here.”

Zev could see the conflict in his lover’s face so he smiled at him softly.

“There is no need for you to worry so, _caro_. I would prefer to sleep in your bed tonight, so perhaps you should go with our dear Champion, yes?’

After a moment’s indecision Fenris nodded at him and, with a last warning glower for Anders, turned to follow Hawke out of the clinic. Zevran closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax his grip on consciousness, and as he slipped back down into sleep the last thing he heard was Varric speaking to the healer.

“I’ve got to say Blondie, of all the tragic death scenes I’ve penned about you, “suicide by magical fisting” was surprisingly not one of them.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zev is not going to face Danarius unprepared

Fate certainly _was_ a tricky whore, at least when it came to his encounters with the Dalish. This was the second time in his dealings with them that it almost ended with the slaughter of the entire clan, and the whole ordeal left him feeling vaguely depressed. Not nearly as depressed as poor Merrill, although she was also strangely angry at Hawke. Zevran didn’t exactly understand that, since if Hawke hadn’t taken responsibility for her they would have had to do battle. Was that what she would rather have happened?

The little blood mage trudged along ahead of them as though she’d like to forget they were following, while Isabela, Varric, Hawke and Zev walked silently behind. It was just as well that Fenris and Anders had not been asked to accompany them. When Merrill had explained to Hawke that she wanted to visit a demon, the Champion had decided that bringing the two virulently anti-blood magic members along would just be asking for trouble.

The Antivan wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about what occurred. He felt like Marethari had done a foolish thing, and her actions had left her clan without a Keeper. However, it also seemed Merrill had been foolish, letting her actions be guided by a demon when she had claimed to know better. He understood that she had meant well, and he was even sympathetic to the idea of recapturing some elvhen power that had long been lost, but she had overestimated her control of the situation.

As they made their way into the city he felt his spirits lift a little, which he knew was because he would soon see his lovely warrior. Because he was, frankly, ridiculous. And it had gotten so that he really didn’t mind.

He was also certain that it wasn’t just one-sided. Although Fenris wasn’t any more likely to talk about his feelings than the assassin, he was just as willing to show them. He treated Zevran as a partner, speaking to him of future events as if he assumed that they would be together. And as far as the Antivan was concerned, they would be. He too had become willing to look beyond the present moment.

So it was with a much lighter step that the assassin made his way into the manor, just in time to hear Aveline snap,

“I’ve done what you asked me to Fenris.”

She passed him on her way out, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

After she left Fenris turned to him in agitation,

“Varania has come. Aveline said that she got off the boat by herself, and she sent me a message that she would be at the Hanged Man all week.

Zevran felt a slight chill wash over him at those words. Both elves had been waiting for weeks for this news with a combination of dread and anticipation. The assassin looked at the impatient face of his lover and knew that any attempt to get him to wait and allow Zevran to scout the place was hopeless. He sighed and grabbed a bottle of magebane, thinking that he may as well prepare for the worst.

“Let us stop and get Hawke and his mabari on the way, yes?”

Fenris nodded eagerly, sword already strapped to his back and moving towards the door.

~~~

So it was that the four of them, including the dog, walked into the Hanged Man to see the red haired elf girl sitting at one of the tables. As Fenris walked forward to greet her Zevran looked towards the bar and gestured discreetly to Isabela, who was standing in her customary place with Anders at her side. She spoke softly to the healer and then moved quickly to the shadows at the bottom of the stairs just as he heard Varania tell Fenris that his name was Leto.

He knew, he _knew_ just from the sound of her voice that this was going to go badly. Fenris obviously knew it too as he stiffened and started to ask her what was wrong.

The brief look of fear that passed over the warrior’s face when he heard Danarius’ voice twisted at his heart. And when the grey-haired mage said that Hawke was Fenris’ new master, calling him “my pet” in the process, he felt a rage such as he had never known. He had long since guessed at the kind of abuse Fenris had suffered at the mage’s hands, and everything about this sneering magister confirmed it. Without thinking he snarled,

“Fenris belongs to no one!”

The Magister gave him a dismissive glance and then turned to speak again to Hawke. But Zevran was done waiting, and whistled two sharp, loud blasts. As he did several things happened at once: Fenris and Hawke both drew their blades, a green glyph appeared beneath the magister’s feet, there was a distinctive twang and thump and Danrius stiffened and froze, and one of the Tevinter guards dropped with Isabela’s dagger in his back. The other guards scrambled about in confusion as Fenris stepped forward, activating his markings and reaching his hand into the grey-haired mage’s chest.

“You are no longer my master!”

As the mage’s body slumped to the floor Zevran could see Varric descending the steps while reloading Bianca. Which wasn’t even necessary, as the remaining guards had fallen quickly to Hawke and Isabella’s blades and Anders spells. Just like that it was over, and Fenris turned his attention to his sister, who was cowering against the wall.

The look of betrayal and rage on Fenris’ face tore something deep inside of Zevran. He felt a strange wave of panic wash over him as he jumped toward the warrior.

“ _Mi Amor_ , if you have ever trusted me about anything trust me in this, you will regret killing her. Do not do it, I beg,”

And he was begging, he knew. But dignity be damned, he would sacrifice so much more than his pride to keep his lovely from making the same horrible mistake he had made.

Those wounded, angry green eyes turned on him.

“She betrayed me to Danarius!”

“Yes, but she is still your sister. She was as much a victim of Danarius as you were.”

There must have been something in his expression that reached through to the warrior, for he let go and stepped back from Varania. Of course, since no good deed seemed to go unpunished she had to get in one last jab at Fenris before running out the door.

At the news that he had fought for his markings Fenris seemed shocked back into his customary bitterness. When he said that he was alone Zevran had to resist the urge to grab him by the arms and shake him. Instead he spoke soothingly,

“You have me, _mi amor._ ”

For a moment the bitterness was replaced by a look of warmth and gratitude, then the warrior’s head drooped as he said, “Let’s go.”

Zevran looked over at Varric as he turned to follow, and the dwarf gestured at his purse and then the bar, indicating he would take care of the damages.

The Antivan followed the other elf back to the manor in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Zevran was thankful that Fenris had gone along with his plan, and thankful that he had such a good group of friends to depend on. Danarius was a powerful magister, his contacts had revealed that much, and he and Varric had worked hard on coming up with a poison that would incapacitate but not kill the mage. It had been an unspoken agreement between all of them that the lyrium elf needed to be the one to deliver the killing blow, but they wanted to prevent Danarius from either summoning any demons, or worse, controlling Fenris. So between Anders paralysis glyph and their special concoction they had made certain he couldn’t cast any spells.

But the betrayal of his sister had been a difficult blow. It had struck to close to home for Zevran, and he knew now that he needed to share that story with his warrior. But first he needed to help Fenris deal with what had happened tonight.

Once they were back at the manor Zevran sat down to clean the poison residue from his blades, willing to let Fenris be the one to break the silence. After several long minutes of agitated pacing he finally did,

“Hadriana is dead. Danarius is dead. I thought once they were gone I would finally be free. But nothing feels as it should, this freedom tastes like ashes.”

“Give yourself some time, _mi Corazon_. You have only just won the fight.”

“I thought finding Varania would open up a new world, one that was lost. But it’s gone, and I can’t get it back.”

The warrior sat on the bench across from him and rested his hands on his thighs. Some of the bitterness left his face, replaced by a wary curiosity.

“When you stopped me from killing Varania…there was something in your voice I have never heard. Why was it so important to you?”

Ah, here it was at last. Zevran took a deep breath and set his sword to the side. He got up and poured the warrior and himself some wine while he thought how best to begin.

“I have never told you why it was I left the Crows…”

As he spoke he felt a curious lightness inside. He had told this story to his warden because he had felt an obligation to be honest with him. It had been cathartic; since he had been certain no one could hear that story and not condemn him as a monster. Telling the story had reopened the wound and he had felt the agony of Rinna’s death all over again. But the Warden had been sympathetic to him, and afterward he had no longer wished to die.

Now however, he felt some distance between himself and the tale he was telling, as if it had happened to someone else. In a way it had. He had believed in Rinna’s betrayal because he was expecting to be betrayed. He was no longer the same man; he had learned to trust, at least a little, and would never act so rashly without being certain. It had been a terrible lesson to learn, but he had learned it, and now it was time to let go.

When he was finished Fenris gazed at him for a moment, his expression filled with sympathy and something indecipherable. Then the warrior shook his head and said softly,

“It is uncanny, the things we have in common. Since we are sharing our darkest secrets, I suppose I must tell you how I came to escape from Danarius.”

When he finished talking it was Zevran’s turn to stare in bemusement. Then he shook his head and chuckled ruefully,

“Ah, we are just a pair of beautiful monsters, are we not? I will make you a deal _mi amore_ If you will forgive me my crime, then I will forgive yours and we can begin anew, yes?”

Fenris stood, pulling off his gauntlets and tossing them to the bench before crossing to Zevran and pulling him to his feet. He had never seen the warrior wearing such an open and vulnerable look as he did right now. The Tevinter ran his fingertips along the assassin’s tattoo until his palm came to a rest along his jaw. He leaned forward until their foreheads were just touching and said softly,

“All of the things that I have feared…that I have lost. My family, my memories…nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”

Zevran held his gaze as he fumbled for the little pouch that had been hanging on his belt for months. He pulled back just enough to raise his arm and place the earring in the warriors hand with trembling fingers. He licked his lips nervously and cleared his throat,

“This is…a memento I have kept from my very first job as a Crow. I have always kept it with me for luck, and I wish for you to have it. As a…a token of my affection.”

The look in his lovely warrior’s eyes was indescribable as he closed his hand around the offering. Then one side of his mouth quirked upward in his adorable half smile as he said, almost shyly,

“That sounds…like a proposal.”

Zevran did not even hesitate before replying,

“Not unless you wish it.”

Fenris stepped closer, the earring clutched tightly in his hand and he wrapped his arms around the assassin and leaned in to say softly in his ear,

“If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

His lips found the warriors and they shared a tender, lingering kiss. Then Fenris pulled back slightly and held the jewelry up to his ear,

“I want to wear it.”

Zevran smiled delightedly, feeling his heart flutter inside of his chest. Truly ridiculous, what this lovely man reduced him to.

A short while later they stood before the bathroom mirror, admiring the silverite hoop as it dangled from Fenris’ ear. Zevran thought it looked like it belonged there, and that it gave the warrior a rakish air that made him even sexier than he normally was. He had no compunction about telling him that either. Fenris gave him one of his rare, full smiles and reached up to touch the earring. Then he turned and pulled the Antivan close as his voice dropped to its huskiest timbre,

“I am yours.”


End file.
